


Vows

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything goes wrong on Draco and Neville's wedding day, except, of course, for the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
> 
> Gift for Ktrisha.

“Nonono—”

But it’s too late. The door swings open, and Neville’s halfway into the bathroom before he realizes he’s in trouble. “What?”

“Neville,” Draco grumbles, looking exasperated. He examines himself in the mirror, having just slicked down his platinum hair neatly, and scolds, “I told you to use the other bathroom.”

“Oops, forgot,” Neville returns with a shrug. He stands next to Draco at the sink and tilts his chin, examining his stubble. Draco told him exactly how to do it yesterday.

Just like how Draco picked out his robes, and his shoes, and his tie, and showed him how to do his hair. It looks mostly like he’s followed the instructions as best he could, and he looks good. But then, Draco could make anyone look good. And Neville doesn’t need much help. Draco doesn’t admit it often, but he takes pride in how gorgeous the man he managed to snag is. Tomorrow, Draco’s going to send several cards out with pictures and thinly veiled bragging.

Now he grabs Neville’s shoulder lightly and turns him for a proper assessment. Neville stands a little straighter, and Draco continues to scold while studying him. “We’re not supposed to see each other on the day of—it’s bad luck.”

“I thought that was just with brides.” Neville smiles.

Draco glares. “It is not. Besides, you ruined the surprise. Now I already know what you’ll look like.”

Neville raises an eyebrow. “You did everything but lay out my socks this morning—you already knew what I looked like.”

“Not all together,” Draco whines, and he smoothes out the wrinkles across Neville’s chest so the robes lie flat. “I’m supposed to see it for the first time when I come down the aisle.”

“I thought I was coming down the aisle.”

“No, I changed that yesterday.”

“Does Percy know that?”

“He doesn’t need to know everything—it’s my wedding.”

“But we asked him to plan it...”

“Neville,” Draco warns. Neville grins but quiets. “Look, I already talked to my parents about it. My father will be much faster walking me down than your gran will.”

“Do we want it to be faster?”

“Well, we don’t want it to be all day, and we need someone who’s not going to crash the wedding by sneakily veering off course.”

Neville’s smile drops into a small frown. “She wouldn’t do that.” Then he adds, with a bit more cheek, “We’re the Gryffindor side—remember? You’re putting Slytherins in charge to _avoid_ sneaking?”

Ignoring the familiar dig, because their relationship is rife with them, Draco steps back to eye Neville properly, head to toe. Neville holds out his arms helpfully, and Draco tries not to beam. Neville looks good enough to eat, and as stressed as Draco’s been while getting ready, he can’t imagine anything that could go wrong enough to ruin this. ...Even if Neville did get a head start on trouble by bursting in early...

“You look gorgeous,” Neville says suddenly. He’s smiling as wide as Draco wants to. There’re so many other things to say, and not enough words to say them. For a moment, it’s just grinning and looking.

But Draco doesn’t want to cry yet, so he turns to the door. “Wait a few minutes to go downstairs—I don’t want Mother to know we saw each other.”

“Wait.”

Draco turns just in time to get flattened into the bathroom door and pressed into a warm but too chaste kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Gregory isn’t very good at covering things up; he never was. Draco knows that for a fact. The minute Draco descends the stairs, he knows something’s wrong; no matter where he walks, Gregory angles his bigger body between Draco and the kitchen. Draco finally has to just push physically passed him, which only works because Gregory never actually fights Draco back.

“It’s okay,” Gregory mumbles nervously, trailing behind. “We’ll figure it out!” Except Gregory never figures anything out. He’s Draco’s best man solely because he’s Draco’s best friend, and not at all for his wedding-fixing-ability.

Scorpius and Draco’s mother are frantically darting around a big bowl on the table. Her wand is out and he’s racing over ingredients, and then he’s putting things away and she’s mixing it all together, fire practically pouring out of her wand. When they spot Draco, Scorpius rushes over, giving Draco a little shove out of the kitchen. “Dad, you should be getting ready!”

“I am ready,” Draco mumbles, peering over his mid-chest-high son. “What are you doing?”

Scorpius never lies to Draco, even if he is in Slytherin. He stops shoving when it becomes apparent that he isn’t strong enough to take Draco away. “Er... it’s okay, we’re fixing it,” he says. “Oh! But it’s not Mr. Weasley’s fault—it’s the catering company—he was _furious_ with them.”

Draco’s eyes go very wide. “The catering company?” he all but mouths. “The... the food...”

“The food’s fine, honey!” Draco’s mother tells him, but her saccharine smile is too sweet to be genuine.

Draco looks back down at Scorpius, who nervously fills in, “...The cake, not so much...”

“The cake?” Draco stares at his mother. The wedding cake. They need that. “Our wedding cake? What happened to it? It didn’t come?”

“They had the wrong date,” his mother reassures him, sounding forcibly off-handed. “But no worries! Scor and I are making a new one—you won’t even notice! It’ll be fine!”

“At least it’ll be made with love?” Scorpius offers, looking hopeful. Draco groans loudly and lifts his hands to drop his head into them.

“They make good cake,” Gregory tries with a shrug, rather unhelpfully. Draco glares at him. Gregory thinks all food is good, so that really doesn’t count. And it’s not just any cake. It’s his _wedding_ cake. And it was supposed to have five tiers and be engraved with their initials and piped in chocolate fondant that he knows he doesn’t have just lying around the manor.

Neville pushes between them a moment later, looking curious. Draco glares at him, and Draco’s mother barks, “Neville! You’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!”

Neville blushes. “Oops.”

“I told you that,” Draco grumbles.

Neville gives him an apologetic look but says, “Sorry. I just had to ask what your father is doing.”

“Nothing!” Gregory says loudly, and suddenly he pushes Draco further into the kitchen, before he can try and peer across the living room. “It’s fine! Everything’s fine!”

“A few of the peacocks got loose,” Draco’s mother fills in. “But it’s alright, Lucius will get them—he’s very good with them.”

“Should I go help?” Scorpius offers.

“No, dear—I need you to help decorate the cake.”

“Okay.” Scorpius smiles, and he looks so cute in his dress robes that it’s hard for Draco to be upset. At least his cake will be made by his favourite people in the world, although he knows he’ll get hell over it from Pansy and Millicent for it not being pristine like the one he originally ordered. He tries to tell himself at least Gregory will like it, no matter what.

But anyway, there’s so much more to check on. Draco’s itching to see the ceremony space—the chairs have to be lined up just so, and he needs to make sure the aisle runner isn’t wrinkled. And the tent’s up—they’re doing it all in the gardens. When he pushes out of the kitchen, he drags Neville with him by the wrist, muttering, “This _would_ go wrong for us.”

“It’s alright,” Neville tries to comfort him. Neville pulls him aside and pecks his forehead. “It’ll be fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Draco pouts, “You’re used to everything going wrong.”

“Don’t take it out on me,” Neville says, but he’s grinning. Scolding Neville makes Draco feel a bit better, and he shifts on his feet. He isn’t clumsy, and he’s used to getting his way. He doesn’t like things going wrong.

Which is why he’s horrified to see the patio doors open behind Neville, across the living room. Ronald Weasley stumbles in, soaking wet, and dripping all over their polished tile floors. His dress robes have disappeared somewhere, and he’s only in his boxers. “Anyone seen my wand?” Weasley hollers loudly, sounding completely drunk. Potter rushes up behind him a moment later, holding a muggle beer and looking like he thinks this is hilarious.

Draco’s so appalled that it takes him several minutes to fume properly. Then he shrieks, “I told you they shouldn’t be groomsmen!” at Neville, because he really did say that.

Neville looks equally embarrassed. Potter calls, “Sorry!” But he doesn’t really sound sorry.

“Cretin!” Draco calls. “You’re ruining my wedding!”

“Habby Wedbing!” Weasley calls jovially, throwing his arms open.

Potter says, “It hasn’t started yet! We were just chilling at the pool before—”

“IT’S MY WEDDING!” Draco covers his eyes with his hands again, about ready to burst. This is exactly why he didn’t want Neville inviting them, let alone putting them in the wedding party. They’re not the sort of people Draco ever wants around his home, and as Weasley walks across the living room, still almost completely naked, he has the nerve to come up to them and slap Neville on the shoulder.

“Congrats!” he says, and Draco can smell the alcohol from where he’s standing. “I mean, I think you’re crazy to marry this idiot, but hey—at least you get to give it to him in bed, right? Nothin’ like bringing an old enemy to his knees—eh? Am I right?” That’s when Draco notices that Weasley’s boxers are transparent and no longer covering like they’re supposed to.

He’s just about to explode when Gregory squeezes into the mix and quickly bends down, scooping Weasley up. He throws Weasley easily over his shoulder and hurriedly carries him out of the living room, and Weasley kicks and screams the whole way, and Potter takes another swig of beer, following and laughing. “Don’t worry,” Potter calls over his shoulder. “We brought sober-up droughts!”

“See what Gregory just did,” Draco grumbles, “ _That’s_ what best men are supposed to be!” Security guards. Exactly why he asked Gregory. Marrying a Gryffindor, he knew he’d need the backup.

“Ron isn’t my best man, Harry is,” Neville says casually. It’s clear that he’s trying to stifle a smile for Draco’s sake. Draco still sees it and positively glares. “It’ll be okay,” Neville repeats, and kisses him again, this time less chaste, for a proper distraction.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco’s practically sobbing by the end of it. He doesn’t mean to be, but he’s still biting his lip, and the tears are still streaming down his face, and he still squeezes Neville’s hand tightly. He cried when he first started preparing his own vows, although he managed not to while reading them. But Neville’s vows absolutely _broke_ him, and Draco’s never, ever felt so loved in his life. Even Scorpius is sniveling, standing next to the old officiant. Neville even included him in the speech and vowed to be a good stepfather, always there for him and always supportive, loving, and kind. That was the part that really did it for Draco. The part that really made him burst. He knows Neville loves him. Having Neville love his son is more than Draco could’ve ever asked for, and Draco’s so ready to say yes he can’t stand it.

Everything went wrong today. Neville broke the don’t-see-each other tradition. Gregory’s robes split a seam and had to be sewn back together. The cake never came, and the one Scorpius and Draco’s mother made, while precious, looks as homemade as it is. Weasley and Potter got completely drunk before the ceremony even started and used up all of the sober potions Draco would’ve liked to be around for the reception. They were somehow three chairs short, forcing them to use kitchen chairs jinxed to look as appropriate as possible. Worst of all, Neville’s gran hasn’t stopped angrily muttering since Draco’s father walked him down the aisle, and Draco’s impressed with himself at how well he’s been able to block it out.

When he looks in Neville’s eyes, none of that matters. He can even understand why Augusta is so upset. If Draco had a wonderful grandchild like Neville, he’d never want to give them up, either, especially to a former Death Eater the war tore apart.

When the officiant suddenly says his name, Draco looks over, hauled out of his reverie. Then he looks at his feet and closes his eyes, trying to breathe. Trying to stop crying. Neville’s eyes are watering, but he’s holding up better. “...Take Neville Longbottom,” the officiant is saying, “to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, through good times and the bad, for as long as you both shall live?”

Draco says, “I do,” before the ‘shall’ is even out of the old man’s mouth. A few members of the gallery chuckle at his quickness, and Neville grins from ear to ear. Draco had planned on hesitating. Being a brat, like he usually is, and making a joke about Gryffindorks, and how he supposes he’ll settle. But now that he’s here, he can’t fathom it, and all he wants to do is put on his ring and race down the aisle, hand-in-hand with his soon-to-be husband.

“And do you, Neville Longbottom, take Draco Ma—”

“Yes,” Neville says, to a chorus of more laughter. Draco scowls through his tears but still can’t stop smiling. Neville looks sheepishly sideways and mumbles, “Sorry.”

The officiant smiles indulgently and keeps reading. “...Take Draco Malfoy to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, through good times and the bad, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

They’ve rehearsed enough that Scorpius holds out the rings before the officiant even looks over. Draco plucks one out of his hand, trying to wipe the tears away. Neville takes the other, and the next few moments are a tangled mess of grabbing each other’s hands at the same time. Draco’s entire body goes numb, zeroing in on just the one finger Neville slides the silver band onto, shaped like a snake and engraved on the inside. His skin is hypersensitive where it touches. Neville’s fingertips are warm and feather-soft.

Draco’s own fingers are trembling where he slides on Neville’s, holding Neville’s garden-calloused hands, a little more sun-kissed than Draco’s. Slightly bigger, slightly rougher. When the rings are on, Draco doesn’t let go of Neville’s hands, and Neville doesn’t let go of his. He holds them tight, knowing that these are the hands he’s vowing to hold for the rest of his life, and he has no regrets over it.

“You may kiss your groom.” It isn’t clear whom he’s talking to, but Draco’s eyes flicker closed, and they lean in at the same time.

Draco doesn’t want to let go of Neville’s hands. But when Neville’s mouth closes over his, he has to. It’s supposed to be a quick, gentle kiss. But it isn’t. Neville tilts just right, and pushes his tongue against Draco’s lips, and Draco, crying profusely, opens. His own tongue battles with Neville’s, and his hands dart up to Neville’s face, stroking his cheeks and cupping him warmly, holding him in and touching everything. Neville’s own fingers slide back through Draco’s hair, and one arm wraps around Draco’s waist, pulling them tightly together. Draco’s hands slip to wrap around Neville’s shoulders, holding him tighter. Their tongues duel, and their bodies fit together, and Draco can’t breathe. He’s so light headed and dizzy, and he’s hot all over, under his skin. He’s extra-aware of everywhere Neville touches, and the kiss keeps going, frantic and passionate. Fiery and violent—Neville pushes into him, Draco pushes back. The audience drowns out; Draco doesn’t care. He wants to run down the aisle right now and take Neville upstairs, and celebrate properly and crash their bodies together and truly become one. He wants to lie with Neville for hours and sweep away to their honeymoon. Not so much fuck as make love. Strip down to nothing, and just be together. He wants to explore every centimeter of Neville’s body. He knows it all, but now it’s _his._ This is the man he’s marrying. Married to. Draco doesn’t ever want to let go.

When they do, there’s a chorus of cheers, and Draco keeps his arms around Neville’s neck, holding him tight.

Neville murmurs, “I love you so much,” in his ear, and it sounds like it’s spoken through tears.


	4. Chapter 4

The live band that shows up is not the band they requested. This is made worse by the fact that Pansy and Ginny Weasley seem to think they’re the lead singers and have been fighting over the microphone all night. Draco does his best to ignore this, which is made slightly easier by holding Neville. It makes the terrible music not matter so much.

A short ways away, his parents are dancing, and they’re obviously pretending it’s a slow waltz. It’s absolutely adorable. When Draco made his speech, he couldn’t properly put into words how grateful he is to have them. They give him hope for a long, happy marriage, and their return speeches brought more tears to both his and Neville’s eyes.

Scorpius is dancing with Augusta, which is a very awkward and hilarious-looking match. But he’s determined to keep her out of their hair—Draco couldn’t ask for a better son.

Draco has danced once with his father and once with Scorpius. And then mostly with Neville. He can’t go back, now—can’t tear himself away. Neville isn’t the best dancer—he’s a little clumsy and his rhythm is always slightly off. But he looks stunningly handsome, and the love in his eyes makes it worth it. Draco can feel Neville’s wedding ring on the hands they have held in the air, and his own ring is pressed to Neville’s hip. The crowd is tight and constantly jostling around them and bumping into them, but Draco’s in his own little world.

Neville has to bend down to say in his ear, over the music, “I gave them a song list. ...I stopped holding my breath half an hour ago, though. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Draco smiles. After Percy shouting himself hoarse at the band, Draco feels like all the irritation’s already been handled. “Dancing’s not what I wanted to be close to you for, anyway.” Draco played footsy under the head table during the more boring speeches, and the way he licked the icing off his cake was less than innocent, when Scorpius went to the washroom and it seemed safe. (Draco doesn’t care if anyone else sees—he’s sure there are plenty of jealous witches here anyway. Pansy hasn’t stopped scowling once, and Gregory had to escort a feuding Granger and Weasley off the property already, to Draco’s utter glee. Just because he’s vowing to spend the rest of his life with Neville doesn’t mean he has to like any of Neville’s friends.)

Neville pulls Draco a little tighter, and Draco’s eyelids flutter, and he wills himself not to moan. He’s had too much champagne, and the music’s giving him a headache. Neville bites the shell of his ear and whispers, “Would you kill me if I asked to sneak away for a bit?”

Draco shakes his head. If Neville had mentioned this yesterday, Draco would’ve snapped at him, but now that they’re in it all, the extra dressing doesn’t seem so important. Everything’s gone wrong today, except just the two of them. He needs a break from the Weaslette’s ‘singing’ (shrieking) anyway. He purrs, “Just a few minutes.”

Neville, smiling, stops dancing instantly, and tugs him out of the crowd. They pass through tables and ignore various ‘congratulations,’ out of the open tent and under the stars. The party’s so wild and it’s so late that Draco hopes no one will notice, or at least that they’ll just think they’re off for a bathroom break. The manor grounds are awash in tiny faerie lights, and they weave back through the glowing flowers and confetti-dressed gardens. They already know they can’t go to the gazebo—last they checked, Zabini was off with an Auror Neville used to work with. Draco told Scorpius not to go anywhere near it and otherwise let things be; he’s not going to waste energy on things that aren’t _Neville._

All the stress dissipates when they’re alone inside the manor, stumbling between furniture and unable to stop touching. Neville kisses him against a wall, and Draco ducks around caterers in the kitchen, dragging Neville upstairs. Neville ends up shoving him into a closet, mumbling, “Let’s save the bed for the wedding night.”

Draco grins, “It is the wedding night,” and kisses Neville hard. Neville holds him tight around the waist. It’s complete darkness in the closet when the door’s clicked close, which is a shame; Draco wants to see his new husband. But he’ll settle for feeling. The image of Neville waiting for him at the altar is forever branded in his mind. Neville grinned from ear to ear the whole way, dress robes swaying slightly in the breeze, hands clasped together, eyes alight. He looked gorgeous, is gorgeous. Everything Draco’s ever wanted. Even in the dark, he feels secure in Neville’s arms. Safe. Everything is going to be alright, is alright. Neville pins him to the wall, one leg between his, and grinds their bodies together.

Draco is unable to let go. He touches as much as he can—tracing Neville’s sides, squeezing Neville’s shoulders, brushing through his dark hair. Their lips work against each other, frantic and desperate—the day’s been full of building. Building up to just _being_ together. Draco wants to Apparate away tomorrow, with just Neville at his side. The ring around Draco’s finger stays cold, while the rest of his skin begins to burn. It’s a beautiful reminder. The contrast keeps it in his head like a beacon. He’s Neville’s, now. He’s always been Neville’s. And Neville’s his. Now it’s just official. And that makes him glow.

Neville stops to lean his forehead against Draco’s. Their whole bodies are together, head to toe, and Neville’s crotch is slightly tented, and Draco’s isn’t far behind. It’s not even so much the sex he wants as the closeness; he just wants to be as close as possible. And he doesn’t want anything between them. As soon as the guests are gone, they’ll lie in bed together, just being together, for hours. Forget cleaning. Forget opening presents. Forget the bragging letters Draco was going to send. He breathes in the earthy scent that is Neville, and doesn’t want to move.

“I love you so much,” Neville whispers. It doesn’t need to be a whisper, but Draco keeps his voice just as low.

“I love you, too.”

“Your vows undid me,” Neville mumbles. He rubs a little into Draco, and Draco whimpers quietly as their clothed cocks brush, and that makes Neville grind harder. Neville softly kisses the side of his face, crushing Draco into the wall. “You changed my life, too; I should’ve put that in.” He laughs quietly. “I can’t believe you said I was the second best thing to ever happen to you.”

Draco smiles, and his own laugh is cut off into a languid moan as Neville switches the angle of his hips. “...Scorpius is first; I couldn’t discount that... but that doesn’t make me any less eternally grateful to have you.”

“I know,” Neville smiles. Draco can tell he’s smiling, even through the dark. He knows how Neville sounds during every expression. Neville’s stubble tickles his chin as he’s kissed gently. “S’just funny.”

“Did you really want me back in Hogwarts?” ...He’d been meaning to ask that...

“Always,” Neville purrs. “Wanted to do all kinds of nasty things to you.” He stops grinding and just presses in, and Draco gasps and tilts his head back. “It was just lust, then, though; I didn’t know how amazing you were... how smart, how funny, how warm...”

“Warm,” Draco chuckles. He isn’t warm; Neville is.

“You’re loving with the right people,” Neville says. “With Scorpius, with your parents...”

“With you,” Draco adds. “Family is the most important thing to a Malfoy... and now you’re my family...”

“I always wanted a family.” Neville’s voice is so quiet for that and almost sad. But in a hopefully, beautiful way.

“You have a family,” Draco whispers back, firmly. “You have Scorpius and me. You’re a father and a husband, and we adore you.” He waits a moment before kissing Neville, all tongue and teeth. All the fire rushes back inside; Neville kisses him so desperately and so wildly that Draco feels every loving word of their vows all over again, making him tremble and racking him with need. He’s never needed anyone so much in his life, and now he knows he could never manage without Neville. He’d fall apart. When they break the kiss, Draco’s practically crying again. The edges of his eyes are prickling, and his pulse is way too fast.

He lunges forward and hugs Neville tightly. “We need a few minutes to calm down, and then we should go back,” he mumbles.

Neville says, “Yeah.” A short pause, filled with just holding each other. “Then, when it’s over, I’m going to carry you up to our bedroom, and I’m going to make slow, passionate love to you all night, and we’re going to fall asleep in each other’s arms.”

Draco drawls, for the millionth time today, “I love you so much.”

Neville pulls back to chastely peck him on the lips and murmur, “I love you more.”


End file.
